


The Ending That Merlin Deserved

by Pippin_Strange



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Canonical Character Death, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Character Death, Court Sorcerer Merlin, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Merlin, Merlin's Magic Revealed, POV Merlin, Psychic Abilities, Sad with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippin_Strange/pseuds/Pippin_Strange
Summary: Arthur's death wasn't the end, it was merely the beginning - the beginnings of the legends like we know in our history books. In order to bring about one destiny, Merlin had to live, fight, and love through the first. The Once and Future King will have a future once Merlin returns to the past and gains the gift of prophesy. R&R!





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! I finished this in the wee hours of the morning so apologies in advance for spelling errors.

...

The moment I fell to the ground, clumsily unable to support Arthur’s weight, I felt something fall within me. A page had been turned, from a chapter of survival, to the epilogue. My own strength had given up on me, but my mind was screaming to go on.  
“You saved my life,” Arthur whispered.  
I was breathing too hard to reply. I had to get up—  
“Just… just…” Arthur’s voice seemed sleepy and annoyed. The way he might sound if I had kept up my chatter for far too long when he really wanted me to just put away his clothes and get out of his chambers so that he could sleep in peace.  
“Just hold me. Please.”  
A very simple request. My heart raced with uncontrollable panic. These were the words of a man who wanted to die quietly. What about living loudly? When did he stop believing I could save him? He couldn’t use past tense, it wasn’t fair.  
“I have something I want to say.”  
“No,” I cut him off. “You are not saying goodbye.” My arms were wrapped around him, closer than we’d ever been before, and yet he felt farther away with each passing second. He was slipping into a place where no amount of holding could keep him safe. And yet my grip tightened, and I hoped—vaguely—that I could keep him warm.  
“No, no,” Arthur’s eyes met mine, and his face was sickly. His mouth and lips looked dry. “Everything you’ve done—I know now. For me…” his voice broke. “For Camelot. For the Kingdom you helped me build…” He was fading, his throat constricting.  
“You couldn’t have done it without me,” I replied, feeling our banter was all too easily coming back. I felt as if I looked into the face of a ghost. But the ghost was laughing.  
“Maybe,” Arthur grinned, but the smile faded. A spasm of pain crept up his neck, twitching his words to its will. “I want to—s-say—something I’ve—never said to you before.” His breathing was labored. His eyes slid around for a moment, unfocused, till he found mine in the darkness again. He swallowed, and it sounded painful. “Thank-you.”  
Thank-you… to me. Then he smiled absently, reached up, and patted the back of my head, cheerfully, then for a moment he rested his hand. It grew heavier, and he relaxed, letting his hand drop lifelessly back to his chest.  
“Arthur,” I said hoarsely, and suddenly his eyes rolled back into his head and the lids dropped halfway. “Arthur,” I whispered again, jostling him, laying a hand against his cheek and patting gently. “ARTHUR!” I shouted, and his eyes slowly opened. He looked very surprised—  
and then suddenly, it was just like falling asleep. He slipped out of my grasp. I held him closer, but he was gone. Like a candle snuffed out, just out of the corner of your eye. “ARTHUR!” I cried, my body trembling. He was so heavy. I groaned, trying to lift him, but he had fallen on top of me. My king was dead in my embrace and I was unable to carry him to safety, to healing.  
I was sobbing, and then I was screaming. My magic seemed to take a hold of my voice, and in my screams, I was calling for the Dragon. I could not fathom the why, or how, but I was shifting, and supporting Arthur’s head so that it would not fall to the ground. Then I pressed my forehead to his, my own tears falling onto his gray cheeks.  
And then the wind rushed by, and the wingbeats of the Dragon echoed, thrusting through the air. “Kilgharrah?” I called helplessly—I knew he would answer my call, and yet, I was calling to him now the way a lost child might to his father.  
And I was very lost. “I would—not—have summoned you, if there was any other choice.”  
Kilgharrah’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene before him. I was standing, Arthur—his body—lay unmoving.  
“I have one last favor to ask,” I said, trying to speak calmly. But I felt I was going to break.

…

Dawn broke. When the gray twilight of sunrise shone over the lake isle, I looked down at Arthur’s face. He was only asleep, I think. The way his mouth hung open, just a little, the worry lines around his eyes relaxed. The peace that seemed to emanate from him.  
The Dragon touched the ground with a rumble, and I jumped down, pulling Arthur after me. He was heavier than before. I could hardly carry him. I lifted his arms and began to walk backwards, heaving for the lakeshore. A small boat is always kept there, hidden by magic I think unless dire need asks for it. It was there now. I just had to pull Arthur towards it—my arms burned—my back ached.  
“Merlin,” said the Dragon, after watching for a pause. His face was softened by his compassion, but I had no time for it. “There is nothing you can do.”  
“I failed?” I questioned, disbelief creeping through me like a fire. I could bring him back to life—couldn’t I? Was there nothing that the all-powerful Emrys couldn’t do?  
“No—young warlock—for all you dream to build can still come to pass!”  
The Dragon lies—and he always has. It hurt more to hear him lie now. How can we build when one of us is dead?  
“Augh!” I cried, hoisting Arthur upwards again. “I CAN’T lose him!” I screamed, for I hadn’t lost him yet. Denial would be with me, for as long as I could stand. “He’s my FRIEND!”  
My best friend. The other side of the coin. Could I even live without him? What life did I even have before I knew him? I was just a village boy, playing with magic and looking after nothing. My best friend was my destiny, and without him, what reason had I to go on?  
“No man, no matter how great, can know his destiny,” said the Dragon gently. “Some lives have been foretold, Merlin. Arthur is not just a king. He is the once and future king. Take heart.”  
“I don’t understand, the once and future king,” I sobbed. “His future—my future—it’s all gone.”  
“Your future lives on,” said the Dragon. “And so will his—when you’ve come to his past.”  
I felt as if my heart stopped altogether. “What do you mean by this?”  
“Arthur will be King again. For destinies are braids of time—and you’ve only touched a single strand. I have wondered at your powers, Merlin, but even you cannot deny that visions of the future are keys to the past. With your friendship—and your knowledge—transcending all of space and time, your powers will grant you the ability to begin again.” He paused. “From the very beginning.”  
A veil had been drawn away, the darkness glimpsed was rolling before the sun. I felt as if I understood, but I dared not speak out loud. What if it was some sort of cruel dream? In my desperation for Arthur’s life—perhaps I misunderstood the Dragon. But what else could he mean?  
“It has been a privilege to have known you, young warlock,” the Dragon was tearful, affectionate, even. “The story we have been a part of will not live long in the minds of men, for a new story must begin. The story in which you do not meet Arthur so late in life, but at his birth. For rather than only knowing him a short time, you will know him all his life—and he will be the better for it. Did I not tell you that you were the key to Albion’s destiny? To Camelot’s golden age? The Key—my young warlock—was in the suffering, and the adventures with which you have both grown and matured together. Only with this journey can you begin anew with the wisdom you have gained. Now you will be Merlin—the sorcerer who saves Arthur’s life.”  
“But… I haven’t saved him,” I whispered brokenly, holding him close. I pressed my forehead to his hair, taking a shuddering breath.  
“But you will,” said the Dragon. “The crystal cave will show you how. But first—you must return Excalibur to the lake, for Arthur must fetch the sword for himself one day. The lake will keep it safe—for the Lady will transcend time with you.”  
“Freya,” I cried quietly, pressing a hand to my eyes to try and stop weeping, but to no avail. I felt so tired—for everything to begin again—to suffer through this a second time—I didn’t have the strength. I wanted to lay down beside Arthur, and greet him in the afterlife.  
“She will always be with you, Merlin. Even when the landscape—the years—the people around you change. She will be there, and she will keep Excalibur safe.”  
I lowered Arthur to the ground. With his absence from my arms, the throb of failure seemed to take his place.  
“And you?” I asked the Dragon. “Will you be there? Will—will you know me?”  
“That I cannot answer, Merlin. For all my powers of prophesy I cannot see the end. I am old—I may die in this life, and not regain another. But do not be troubled about it. I have lived long, and fully.”  
“Then this may be goodbye,” I said shortly, unable to lend my voice to the word for long. My head began to ache, the sort of pain that comes from crying for far too long.  
“It may be.” The Dragon said, with something like a smile overcoming his knobby features. “I wish you well.”  
“And I you. And—thank-you. For everything.”  
Kilgharrah nodded his great head, and then his wings beat the ground thrice, and with the aftershock in the air—he was lifting, effort rippling through that scaly, old skin, and he was flying into the horizon now—and with one last wheel like an eagle—he was gone. I lifted my hand in farewell. 

…

I felt hardened into stone. Gray-faced, I took Arthur’s sword from his side. I took its cold pommel in my hands. Then I drew it back, and with my last remaining strength, I threw it with a shout.  
It arced—flying, beautifully, glinting in the sun till the water opened.  
A slender hand shot out—Freya’s own fingers—grasped the sword, and gently brought it under the still waters. How I wish I could catch her hand as easily as she caught the sword—I would bring her to the surface, and kiss her. And I would make her swear to never leave me. “I miss you,” I whispered out loud.  
A breeze shuffled through the trees. And I miss you, the breeze seemed to chuckle, a pretty voice, perhaps in my mind—like a druid—drifted soundlessly over the lake. And for a moment, I felt calm, almost joyful. The voice was a lullaby, and it was driving away the despair. 

…

This allowed me to work. I was able to set up Arthur properly in the boat, as if he was just asleep. I chuckled and insulted him while I tried to lift him, and as I lowered him and arranged his hands, I sobbed again—openly—the type of cries that leave you wishing for death, and falling to your knees, hugging yourself in order to keep the pieces from falling out. I put my hand on his forehead.  
Then, emptied and emotionless, I stood silently.  
I said the spell, to guide the boat. My magic pushed him from the shallows. 

I watched the boat drift down the lake. Arthur was in that boat. I felt as if—I felt incomplete. I hadn’t been able to say goodbye. I thought not saying it would keep him from dying—but I was wrong. I wished now that I had said goodbye. In his last moments—did he wonder why I didn’t say ‘your welcome’? Did he want me to say goodbye for him? Should I have told him how much I needed, loved, respected, and hoped for him? My best friend… my brother…  
“I’ll see you again, Arthur,” I said, tasting saltwater on my lips. “Don’t forget me.”

…

I took effort to turn my back on the lake. I had to keep telling myself—I am not leaving you, Arthur. I am finding you again. In another time.  
Don’t forget me. 

…

It had been less than a week since I had been trapped in the crystal cave by Morgana’s hand. I had lost track of time. I nearly got lost.  
But then I found one of the horses, wandering the woods, bridal still attached and reigns dangling. He allowed me to ride thus far, and when I came to the cave entrance, he began to graze without a care in the world.  
Weak, hungry, and sore, I fell into the rocky doorway, pulled myself in on my elbows, and collapsed on the floor.  
“Father,” I whispered. “I failed. I need you. Please.”  
“Merlin,” said a voice, full of love. It was not my father’s voice.  
I looked up blearily, and in the blue haze, I could see my mother.  
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “You should be in Ealdor?”  
“I was in Ealdor,” she said softly, her image transparent. “Morgana’s uprising claimed many lives. As a group of Saxons journeyed to meet her at Camlann, they burned Ealdor and slaughtered all.”  
I took a moment for this to sink in. “Then—then—you’re…”  
“Dead,” she finished kindly. “But I am not unhappy. After all this time—Merlin—I was so lonely. I missed you so much. But the gates of Heaven opened for me, and your father was there to take my hand. Do not be afraid, Merlin, for we’ll watch over you. As well as we can. Whichever path you take.”  
“You can’t be dead,” I pulled myself up, kneeling before her wavering figure. “I can’t lose another person. Not one more. I can’t.”  
“Balinor and I are together again,” she said softly, breaking into a smile. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Together we can be with you in another life, and in another time. We both know why you are here. You are here to start again. We will lead you.”  
“Mother,” I whispered, “I am sorry—if you suffered—I can’t bear this, I, I…” I broke down, leaning forward, hiding my face with my hands.  
“Shhh,” she said, comfortingly. I felt a brush of warm fingers through my hair. I looked up, in surprise. She was really there, kneeling right in front of me. She pulled me into her arms and held me, and I cried. A large hand—a bigger hand—rubbed the back of my neck. I realized my father was there too. Both of them, rematerialized in the flesh, warm and holding me. The three of us together. Just as it could—should have been. If only he never left Ealdor. If only I never left. I would never have met Arthur. I would never have to live through losing him.  
Something welled up inside me—for moment I thought I was just sobbing too hard, and my magic was doing something odd—but that wasn’t it. I was slipping into unconsciousness. Something blue emanated all around, the crystals were coming alive. When the blue light became too unbearable, I shut my eyes, and passed into the dark oblivion that waited.  
“Goodbye, my son,” whispered my father, and my mother kissed my forehead. 

...

When I woke up, I was drained, and yet I was refreshed. Something had healed inside of me, but I don’t know what. I stood up, taking in my surroundings. The cave was dim, the crystals were sound asleep. I could not feel the presence of my parents—but I knew they were there. It was no hallucination. They had been with me, in my darkest hour. I still felt comforted by their warmth.  
I walked to the entrance, and stepped out, expecting to see my horse waiting by the tree where I had loosely tied his reins. There was no such thing.  
A company of knighted guards stood there, in the guise of Camelot crimson. There was about a dozen of them.  
I didn’t know what to say. I had to explain to them that I failed—but how could I find the words? They all loved Arthur. When I returned to Camelot, I would break the hearts of all to hear my tale. Especially the Queen—oh, Gwen. My poor Gwen. She will be devastated… so devastated…  
The knight at the head of the column nudged his mount, and the horse stepped forward. He raised a hand in some sort of salute.  
“The King of Albion, Uther Pendragon, sends his greetings to the Great Sorcerer Merlyn Emrys.”  
I blinked. “I’m sorry—who? Who are you?”  
The knight removed his helm. His face was younger, less worn than before. His eyes registered gratefulness.  
“Sir—Sir Leon,” I gasped. “It is you.”  
Sir Leon was equally surprised. “You know me?”  
“Of—of course I know you! Don’t you know me?” My voice faltered.  
“Your powers truly exceed the stories,” Sir Leon said, humbly. “For we have never met before.”


	2. Chapter Two

“Sir Leon,” I repeated. “Tell me what is going on! Please!”  
“The King begs your forgiveness for the hour, but the Queen has given birth to a child. He is desperate, Great One, for your wisdom and advice in this hour—for the Prince will be heir to the land and ruler of all Briton, and Uther feels the weight of this destiny greatly. Will you come?”  
It was only then that I realized it was dark out—sometime after nightfall, perhaps even after midnight. The sky bore no signs of sunset nor dawn.   
I looked back into the cave. A glimmer of blue light seemed to say yes in the shadows.  
“I will come,” I said, unable to think of anything else. My mind was racing with questions, enough to make my heart burst. Uther Pendragon? Sir Leon—young? And he does not know me? What is going on?  
The ride back to the castle, in the black of night, was endless. I kept waiting for the silent company of knights to tease me, but they uttered no sounds. Sir Leon kept glancing curiously at me, but whenever I returned the favor, he looked away in nervousness or fear. 

…

The city of Camelot looked younger too. The stones were fresh, the walls undarkened by weather and battle. The lower towns were half the size they used to be, and the Darkling woods grew much closer to the castle walls. The roads were thinner, winding through the shacks and closed markets.   
Dawn began to creep, with a gray light, over the distant mountains. I felt the warmth on my face, but it sent a chill down my arms. 

…

Servants took our horses in the courtyard. Sir Leon motioned me to follow him. “This way, Sorcerer,” he said quietly.   
I knew the way like the back of my hand. But I followed him without a word, as we went up the stairs, into the main hall, turned left, followed another stair way, till we reached the statue at the top. Sir Leon bid me to wait for him for a moment. When he returned, he said, “The King is ready to see you.”  
Walking like one who has carried both life and death on his shoulders, I followed him—dreading what I might see.

…

Queen Ygraine looked much like Arthur. Her blond hair was dampened with sweat, and her blue steely eyes followed me with a tired look of apprehension. She lay in bed, one hand hanging over the side, resting on the edge of an ornately carved cradle.   
King Uther—similar he looked to the day I met him, only his thinning hair was a shade darker—sat at her bedside, holding her other hand. Sir Leon led me inside, and I bumped into someone by the door.   
I turned to apologize. “Gaius,” I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut. Gaius looked younger. Still long haired and wearing long robes, but his hair was pulled back in a band, and his skin was far younger. His eyes were more alert than I’d ever seen them, and his eyebrows raised crookedly.   
“Merlin,” he greeted, bowing. “You honor us with your presence.”  
“What is going on?” I whispered.   
Before Gaius could reply, Sir Leon announced my presence. “I present to you—the Great Sorcerer, Merlin Emrys, Sire. He has come to offer you his counsel.”  
Uther—looking far more like his son than I would have imagined—heaved his younger body out of the chair and strode towards me. So that’s where Arthur got that pompous looking walk.   
“Merlin,” he said—and then Uther Pendragon bowed. To me. Me. “I cannot thank-you enough. Rumors of your wisdom have always been whispered, and I myself have seen—only from afar, mind you—of your skills with magic in battle. Time and time again you have saved Camelot from destruction, allowing me to be the King I have always hoped to be. To speak to you—in person—I am overwhelmed,” Uther bowed a second time. I half-expected him to stop fooling around and order me to be put to death for my magic. And yet I couldn’t fathom why he—his Queen—why they were alive in the first place. I felt the answer was eluding me, it all seemed to simple to say that the crystal cave had delivered me into the past.   
“Thank-you,” I managed to say, bowing in return. “If—if you don’t—mind—I’d like to speak to the Court Physician. For a moment.”  
Uther raised his eyebrows. “Of… of course. If that is what you wish.”  
“He will update me on the health of the Queen and the condition of –the—prince,” I almost choked up. It isn’t Arthur, I thought fiercely to myself. Arthur is dead and floating in a boat across the lake. “And I shall better know what advice I must give you regarding his future.”  
“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Uther said amiably, sounding relieved. He reached forward and opened the door for us—actually opened the door. By himself. He motioned us out into the hall. “We will await your presence till you are through with your council.”  
And then the door was shut, and Gaius and I stood in the moonlit hall.   
“Gaius,” I said, barely able to keep it together now. “Oh Gaius. Tell me you know me. Please!”  
“I’m… I’m afraid we have never met before,” Gaius said.   
“Surely—surely we must have,” I said shakily. “All those deeds Uther spoke of—my helping him be King—all the good that I’ve done—we’ve never crossed paths? Not even once?”  
“No,” Gaius replied, confused. “Though I don’t see what this has to do with the Queen or the new young Prince.”  
“Gaius,” I repeated, breaking down. “You have to know me.” I reached out my hand, tentatively. “I mean—um—you will know me. We shall be, great friends, you and I. Just you wait.”   
Gaius looked at my hand, suspiciously. Then he took it, and gave it a heartwarming shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Merlin. I will admit, I am surprised that one so young has inspired such great awe and wonder. Not that you do not deserve it, of course,” he amended quickly, “But you do look as though you could use a decent meal and a good nights rest. Have you got any family, lad? Anyone at all? For so great a wizard, the wanderings and tales we’ve heard—it does sound like a lonely life indeed.”  
“The loneliest,” I said quietly, gripping his hand. “I… I have no one.” I couldn’t stop myself. I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly. I didn’t care if he thought I was some sort of magical freak. I had to know that he was real. I missed Gaius already—the old Gaius. The Gaius with the slanted, elderly eyes, the keen stare, the judgmental eyebrows and his scolding. The way he would make my favorite stew, and then make really horrible stew the next day. The one who was my father when Balinor could not be.   
“Oh,” said Gaius, stiffening with surprise. “What is this?” When I did not answer, he patted my back tentatively. “There there, lad,” he said kindly, “It isn’t as bad as all that, is it? Come now. Pull yourself together. Tell me what I can do for you.” He forcibly stepped out of the hug and gave me a stern, but gentle, look. He wanted to scold me—I could tell. But he didn’t know me. But just that look, that look of strict guidance and advice, it warmed my heart to the core. And it made me laugh a little.   
“Are you mad?” Gaius asked with some laughter himself.  
“Today, yes,” I said, “I suppose what I need to know is—the Queen. Is she—ill?” Ygraine died in childbirth, causing Uther to turn on Nimueh and ban magic. It was the seed of destruction that caused the Great Purge. “She is not dying, is she?”  
“Not at all,” Gaius said proudly. “She is healthy as can be. It was not an easy birth—childbirth never is—but she was not in any danger. She is recovering nicely and there was hardly any bleeding.”  
“And Nimueh?”  
“Nimueh…? Who is that?”  
“Nevermind. Unimportant. Um… and the Prince?”  
“Young Arthur is as perfect a son that the King and Queen could ever hope for.”  
I almost felt as if the ground was giving way beneath me. “Arthur?”  
Until this moment, I almost couldn’t believe what was happening. But I had to believe it now.   
“Yes, that is the name they have chosen. Prince Arthur, heir to the throne of Briton. For many years they have tried to have a child, but to no success. It is a miracle in itself. For that reason, Uther sent the son of his finest knight to find you, and invite you to the citadel for your wisdom and advice.”  
“The son of his finest knight?”   
“Sir Ulfius will not leave King Uther’s side! Even as we speak, he patrols the castle grounds, on the watch for any trouble. His son, Sir Leon, offered to take the patrol and search for you. We did not honestly expect you to be so easily found.”  
“I was in the neighborhood,” I said lightly, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank-you—Gaius—for informing me as to the circumstances of this… great… event. I will go speak with the King now.”  
I had to keep myself from embracing him again. I turned to the door, and pushed it open. King Uther stood up from his chair again. “Gaius’s introduction proved satisfactory?” he asked, anxiously.   
“Very,” I said shortly, walking around the edge of the bed. I felt so out of place, but I tried not to show it. “Your Majesty—how are you feeling?”  
“Tired, but very happy, Great Merlin,” Queen Ygraine said, in a relieved voice. “All the better now that you are here.” The apprehensive look was back, though. “Though I admit I am anxious for your prophecies. In my happiness, I worry about what doom may follow.”  
Uther took her hand, and I was shocked at the love that he looked upon her with. “We both worry about that.”  
I avoided looking at the cradle in the corner. “You want me to look into your future?”  
“We… we know it is a terrible favor to ask of such a great sorcerer,” Uther said apologetically. “But that is our desire, yes.”  
Before I could even answer, I felt my magic well up inside me, taking over to a point. I had no control over the images that flooded me and spilled out of my fingertips. 

Suddenly I was not in the bedroom at all, but in the courtyard. Sir Ulfius—looking uncannily like Leon—was announcing the death of Uther Pendragon due to illness. The townspeople cried out audibly in their grief. The entire land of Camelot was saddened by the death of their great and just King. People from miles around heard of his death and were moved by it. Queen Ygraine held the infant in a blanket, sobbing for her husband. And then came the wars—the battles—minor kings from other lands fought over Britain, parceling it out among themselves. But it wasn’t enough. They stormed the castle. They came to this bedroom—they stood over the cradle. A man wearing double swords across his back raised a dagger upwards. I realized it was Cenred—younger and more vile than ever before. He was going to kill the heir to Camelot. Not Arthur—not again!   
“NO!” I screamed, throwing my hand forward to stop him. Then I came to, and I was still standing in Ygraine’s bedroom, having only closed my eyes for a mere second. In the whole of that pause, I had seen the future of Uther and his son. My eyes burned with the glow of magic, and when it flickered back to normal, I turned to Uther and Ygraine.  
“I have had a vision,” I said slowly, not really knowing how to say it properly. I had no practice in speaking official speeches, despite having written many for Arthur. I had never had to say any of them.   
Uther and Ygraine gripped hands, awaiting my judgment.   
“Uther Pendragon—Sire,” I corrected. “I… I don’t know how to tell you this, but you are all in grave peril. You will soon fall ill and die, and the kingdom will be thrown into chaos.”  
Ygraine gave a gasp of pain.   
“And the young Prince will surely be killed by your enemies, so that they may take Camelot for their own. He is not safe here.”  
“What can we do?” Uther asked calmly, taking the news of his impending death very slowly. Ygraine was growing more distraught by the second, but Uther was quiet, and strong, and his response was keeping her grounded.   
My magic took over again. I had never experienced visions like this before. Staying overnight in the crystal cave had done something to me—before, I could only see the visions within the crystals themselves, like the time I saw the vision of Morgana killing Uther with the knife gifted to her by Arthur himself. But I did not have the crystals now—I possessed the magic within me. It was mine to access whenever I wanted to see the future—for any one, any place. Maybe even for me if I wanted. 

 

This time, the visions took me outside of Camelot. Sir Ulfius, Sir Leon, and I were walking through the darkness of the woods. We were approaching a homestead, a pleasant little place in a working farm. The tenant who worked the farm waved at us as we went by. We walked to the manor, where the lord of the estate lived. When I knocked, the door opened right up, and Sir Ector—I do not know how I knew his name, but that’s what it was—beckoned us in.   
We were soon seated around a fire in the main room of his small, wooden manor.  
“You know I ain’t the most noble of dem knights,” he said, his country accent thicker while he whispered. “But I will do anythin’ for me King. So if the King ‘as got an errand for me, I’ll do it. What is it?”  
“We wish you to take in the Prince Arthur, as your ward,” Sir Ulfius stated, “And raise his as your own, without the true nature of his lineage being revealed. It is the will of both the Great Sorcerer Merlin, and the King and Queen Pendragon of Briton that this be done. It is the only way to save the heir from the coming War.”   
Sir Ector blanched. “Me…take the Prince? The Little Prince himself?”  
“Can you handle it?” I said sternly. “I will be living nearby, and I will help you all I can—but I will be his tutor, not his father. You will never need to worry about his education, only that he be loved, fed, and worked so that he may learn humility. Can you do this?”  
“Aye, aye, if it is the King’s will. I mean, the nursemaid will care for—ya know—his needs an’ all—but if dey want me to be ‘is official guardian, all in secret like, I’ll most certainly do it.”  
“Then so be it,” I said sternly.   
And then suddenly, I was racing, and the wind was racing too, blinding my eyes and making them water.  
Then I stood at the stone—an anvil, really—perched in the middle of the square. Excalibur was sitting in the stone—upright—waiting to be pulled, and shown to the world that this was the true Pendragon heir.  
A young hand went around the hilt. I was about to look at young, teenaged Arthur—but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see him, not yet. My pain was too raw.   
I shielded my eyes, but that didn’t stop me from hearing the cries of “Long Live the King!”  
“Long Live the King!”  
“Long Live the King!”  
“Long Live the King!”  
“Long Live the King!”


	3. Chapter Three

“Long Live the King!”  
“Long Live the King!”

…and then the vision melted in the heat of the fire. I could have sworn I heard the call of the Dragon echoing in the flames, and then, the flames were only in my eyes. Then they were not there at all.  
Uther and Ygraine waited nervously.   
“The Prince must be hidden, if he is to survive,” I said. “As soon as possible. He should live with Sir Ector—he is not safe in the city walls, and Sir Ector lives on a farm near the border. He will be both safe and cared for. I will see to it personally.”  
“My… my baby… will have to move away?” Queen Ygraine said, choking on her sobs. “If—if that is the only way to save his life?”  
“It is,” I said brusquely. Trying to sound like a great sorcerer just made me sound cold and aloof. I softened my voice. “Not only will we save him, but he will be King of Camelot. This I swear to you. And I will be with him. I will personally tutor him, and he will have the education fit for a King. He shall want for nothing. I promise.”  
“Can you… not save my husbands life?” Ygraine pressed.  
“I am afraid I can prevent the Prince’s death from the sword, but I cannot prevent the King’s death from an unknown illness.”  
Uther leaned down and kissed Ygraine’s forehead. “It’s all right, beloved. I’ll be all right.” He straightened, and looked at me squarely. “I was right to be wary of my doom,” he said darkly, sounding like the Uther that I knew. “It was a risk I was willing to take. You have served me well, Merlin. I don’t know how to thank you. Knowing that my son will learn by your wisdom is comfort enough. Give my wife and I time to make our farewells. The child will be in your care before the night is over. I will summon you when we are ready.”  
I bowed. “Sire.”  
I turned and left the room, feeling the walls press in on me. When the door shut behind me, I leaned against the wall, gasping. So much magic—in front of Uther Pendragon! My brain and heart felt so full, I couldn’t breathe. I sat heavily upon the ground, trying to calm my heart. My lungs heaved. I was crying again—for my old life. The life that doesn’t exist anymore. This was not my Camelot. This wasn’t my Arthur. This wasn’t my…  
“Gaius!” I exclaimed, trying to scramble up, blinking. “I did not… realize… I didn’t…”  
“Calm down, lad, tears are nothing to be ashamed of,” Gaius knelt to my level and handed me a handkerchief. “There is more to you than meets the eye, I think. You look like you’ve had a rough week.”  
“A rough life,” I offered weakly, accepting the handkerchief. “Nothing is the same anymore. You—you were the one I didn’t expect. Now I wish I had said a proper goodbye. You promised me my favorite meal when I returned. My favorite.”  
I sniffed uncontrollably.   
“That does seem… problematic,” Gaius offered carefully. “Boy,” he said, leaning down and trying to see into my eyes. “Is it possible that… that you have mistook me for another?”  
“No, my Gaius, my Gaius was you, and I was your apprentice… training to be a physician, like you. I was learning. I lived in the little room at the back of your chambers. I came to you with all my problems. You… and your books… always found the answers to my problems. I owe you everything. You’ve made me half of what I am today.”  
“You sound as if you’ve come from another life.”  
“Yeah—my life! That was my life. And it’s over now.” I buried my face in my arms.   
“There there! Good lord, boy. I have never heard someone as young as you sound so lost and tragic. I think you’d better come with me, and we’ll have a nice cup of tea. We will await the King’s summons together!” Gaius tugged my arm, and I reluctantly stood and followed him down the hall. It was difficult to not look at recognizable chambers as I strode past. Arthur’s chamber—Morgana’s old chamber—the entrance to the knights hall—oh, Gwaine. I never got to return to Camelot and say goodbye. I wonder—did you return to Camelot yourself? Did you make it through the battle? Of course you did.  
Of course you did. 

…

Gaius didn’t treat me with the frightened reverence like the rest of who I had met in this new Camelot. He treated me exactly how I was—young, frightened, alone. He offered me a little leftover dinner that he had made the night before… it happened to be my favorite stew.   
Even without knowing who I was, it was still the same Gaius.   
I ate the stew with relish, and praised Gaius’s cooking… even though usually his cooking is slightly less than praiseworthy. It tasted like the best meal I’ve ever had.

Then, we had tea, and I did my best to try and explain that I wasn’t mad… just misplaced in time.   
“So you are saying,” Gaius repeated, “That yesterday I was your guardian—and today, you find yourself twenty-six years back in time—to a time when I do not know you?”  
“More or less.”  
“How did I become your guardian?”  
“My mother was worried about my magic, and she sent me to you.”  
“Who is your mother? And father?”  
“Hunith, and Balinor, the Dragonlord.”  
Gaius stared at me with shock and belief finally registering. “My… my old friends.”  
“Yes.”  
“They were living happily in Ealdor together, and last… last I heard… they were killed by a band of Saxons. I assumed their son died with them.”  
So, both in this world, and the last. Both killed by Saxons.   
“My poor boy,” Gaius said softly, “I think I understand now. I am… deeply sorry about your parents. They were good friends of mine. I shall miss them terribly, as will you, I am sure.”  
I nodded, numbly.   
“In your future, then,” Gaius continued, “You are the same sorcerer?”  
“Less powerful than I am now,” I said, “The ability to prophesy as I can is… a new ability. The rest, though, you helped me develop.” I gave him a slight smile. “I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you. I mean that.”  
Gaius put his hand on my arm. “I only wish I knew how it all happened. Perhaps in time you could tell me.”  
“In time.” I took a deep breath. “And Gaius?”  
“Yes, Merlin?”  
“I have one last question for you.”  
“Go on.”  
“Is… is there a Dragon locked beneath the castle?”  
“Heavens, no. The only dragon that I know of roams the skies, a bit bitter towards humans though has never attacked the city. He’s a wild one, I think, as eager to stay as far away from us as we are from him.”  
I looked forward to meeting this dragon one day, hoping against all hope that it was Kilgharrah. 

…

The King’s summons came as the land grew lighter in a slow, agonizing dawn. He and Ygraine had their goodbyes… a very private time… and they probably discussed Uther’s impending death as well. I felt terrible for telling them such things—a harbinger of doom, I was, and unable to figure out if that was my purpose or not. I did not even understand my motivation. I could have begged Gaius to take me back, and let me be his apprentice again. I could have watched Arthur grow up within Camelot, preventing his death time and time again. When war came, I’d shield him from it somehow. But even then…   
There was a powerful magic at work, a law that I had to obey too. This entity seemed to know what future was the right course, and it showed me the right path. I knew in my heart this was the right thing to do—and yet, the moment I truly dreaded had arrived.   
We met in secret, by that iron-grated door outside the city walls that leads through the underground tunnel to the dungeons. Sir Ulfius and Sir Leon were both there, dressed in plain clothes but carrying serious weaponry. Ygraine and Uther stood silently, ready to make the greatest sacrifice of their young lives.   
I couldn’t help but wonder—how would this change Arthur? Would he grow up to be… my friend? Or an entirely different Arthur?  
When I first met him, I called him an ass. He had grown up in the city of Camelot, given everything he’d ever wanted, denied nothing. He was selfish, and cruel, and arrogant. But our friendship changed that. I saw him become the man he was supposed to be, in order to rule with goodness and justice.   
Would he not learn these same lessons growing up away from the palace?  
This was the right path. Magic showed me that.  
But what was I sacrificing?


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final pieces come together, and Merlin sees a far better future. The Once and Future King was truly saved.

Ygraine was holding the blanketed infant. She kissed his forehead, passing him to Uther. Uther whispered something lovingly to him, and then handed him to Sir Leon. Sir Leon looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I am the guard,” he said uncertainly, “We are here to ensure Merlin’s safe passage to Sir Ector’s.”  
“Is my magic not great enough?” I teased, only to remember that Leon wouldn’t understand if I was teasing him—for we weren’t friends. Not yet.   
“No, no, Great One, of course it is, I… I only meant…”  
“Oh, calm down, Sir Leon, I was… being facetious. Here… I’ll… I’ll take him.” I held out my arms.   
Oh, Arthur. He once died in my arms. And now—now I was holding him because there isn’t much else he can do.   
Then I laughed. I was holding Arthur. The Prince, the infant. Only a newborn child. If only I could tell Arthur about it. We’d be laughing hysterically.   
They mistook my laughter for the genuine sound of someone delighted at holding a little baby, when really, I was just laughing at the fact at which baby I was holding. He wasn’t heavy at all, though pretty chubby for his age, I suppose. I should keep a list of all the things I want to tease him about when he is older and able to hold his own.   
“I’ll take care of him,” I said to the Pendragons. To the knights, I said, “We must go.”

We took our first steps into the night. I tried to close my ears to the sounds of Ygraine’s sobs and Uther’s comforting whispers. I had to shut it out. This was the right thing to do.

I shifted the sleeping child in my arms, holding him close and patting the blanket gently. He was quiet for some time. When we reached the wagon waiting for us, hiding in the trees, we clambered aboard and set him in a makeshift cradle made from a basket and filled with warm wool blankets. Sir Leon took the reigns, Sir Ulfius watched the back for any sounds of trouble, and I sat in the middle of the wagon, watching for any signs of wakefulness from the little Prince.   
When he woke up for a split second and made a upset sighing sound, most likely feeling the jostling of the wagon, I said, “There there, little one. Almost home.”  
He was sound asleep, tiny and with a lock of light hair on his forehead.   
This felt so… unreal. My friend—my best friend—was twenty-odd years younger, very much alive, and had no idea who I was. He was also drooling on himself. Typical.   
His tiny fist grasped my finger, and I felt another vision light up, like a torch fire at the end of a tunnel.   
This time, there was no avoiding it. Arthur—the way I knew him—was standing right in front of me. He was the age… the age at which he died. He looked fairly normal. Maybe there was something different about the eyes, but it was still him. And he was giving me that look. That look when I told him I was a powerful sorcerer. That doubtful I can’t believe you can juggle look. The look that said I can’t believe you just won that game in the tavern. It was basically just the ‘I can’t believe you’ look.   
“So you’re saying,” he droned sarcastically, “That in some other life—you and I were—the same age?”  
Only then, I realized that in the time it took for him to become this age, I had in fact become twenty some years older. I suppose I could age any way I wanted, with aging spells and immortality on my side, but I had chosen to age alongside of him. I was somewhere in my forties—I couldn’t be sure where the vision had landed me—and it was beginning to show. I could almost feel the hair turning white by my ears, and a tiredness in my shoulders that didn’t exist before.   
“Yeah,” I said, with a cheeky grin. “And you were far more arrogant.”  
“And I bet you weren’t any less annoying,” he snapped back.   
“You were fatter. Much fatter than now.”   
Arthur gasped. He reached over and gave me a light punch in the shoulder, and then withdrew his hand, looking apologetic. “Sorry—Merlin—I, uh, shouldn’t have done that.”   
“That’s right!” I said shrilly, in the voice of Dragoon the Great. “One ought not to hit their masters! I’ve given you your education, and I can take it like that!” I snapped my fingers.   
Arthur stared at me, eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out if I was being serious or not. Then I laughed, and I shoved his shoulder. “Don’t be a prat,” I said. “We’re supposed to be visiting your foster family with decorum and poise. Neither of which you have, apparently.”  
Arthur snickered, rolling his eyes and glancing towards the road. The road bordered Sir Ector’s property, a hundred feet or so of budding crops between the manor yard and the edge of the street, where a peculiar caravan was driving. It was clearly royalty, and yet we did not often have visitors. Arthur had pulled the sword from the stone several years ago, and had lived in Camelot ever since. We had retuned to Sir Ector’s property to pay them a visit, for as much as Arthur relished in his new life as a King of Camelot, he missed his adopted family—however stupid they could be, there was sincerity there that he missed among palace life.   
And yet there was a carriage, and the footmen opened the door, and a beautiful woman stepped out into the blazing sunshine.  
“Oh my god,” whispered Arthur slowly, shielding his eyes. “Who… who is that?”  
I knew her face.  
That beautiful face - so full of kindness, compassion, the truest heart there ever was.  
“That, my friend,” I said, feeling my heart swell. “Is the Lady Guinevere.”  
Arthur began to walk towards her carriage, trying not to appear too eager by breaking into a trot. I watched him go, feeling a deep fondness for this young woman that would have no memory of me. If only I could sit them both down for tea and tell them how long we all waited for Arthur to get over his pride and arrogance so that Gwen could tell him how she properly felt. I wish I could tell them I was there when they were married and when Gwen was crowned Queen of Camelot. Maybe one day.   
“Merlin,” said Arthur quickly, turning around suddenly and looking at me with that look of pompous silliness that I always found so irritating. “I’m about to try and impress this beautiful girl… so… um… don’t do anything to embarrass me, will you?”  
“I’ll do my best,” I laughed, remembering the time I said the spell to make his trousers fall down in the middle of a council meeting. I have yet to tell him that story. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”  
“Are you insulting the King?”  
“Merely advising him, as I always do.”  
“Wait—should I pick flowers? Don’t girls like flowers?”  
“You’re clotpole. The Lady Gwen is smiling at you now. Don’t keep her waiting. God knows she’s been waiting long enough for you to notice her.”   
Arthur gave me a confused look, but let it slide as he turned and broke into a trot. Gwen stood regally, with the same poise she always possessed, but this one an effort of life-long possession, not one gained when she left the status of maidservant.   
I watched the two of them speaking, and then smiling at each other. I felt like the pieces of my broken life were being sewn together, little by little, year by year.

…

I gasped, coming out of the vision. I had fallen asleep, and tiny Arthur still grasped my finger with the entirety of his hand. I leaned down and rubbed his forehead gently with my thumb. “Prince Arthur, you are going to be the Once and Future King. Wait and see. And I’ll look after you, like I always have.”  
The morning sunlight shining bright and dappled on the forest floors on either side of the road. The wagon went over a small rut and jolted slightly.   
Sir Leon glanced back at us. “We are very close to Sir Ector’s, and will be there by noon,” he smiled. “The young Prince has been peaceful all night—I’ve never heard of a new born child sleeping soundly through the night.”  
“Perhaps he was dreaming,” I suggested thoughtfully, “For he has a future to dream about.”  
The bird song of the awakening forest began to chime, a celebratory sound from nature itself… the king did have a future. And it was beginning now. 

...  
...  
...

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving me a comment :) Thank you to all of those who read and commented!


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